


baptism

by kitchensink (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Choking, Religion, manipulation (implied), very unholy activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kitchensink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you bathe in blood; you clean yourself for your god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baptism

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know where the hell this came from, so. enjoy it ig ??

Blood spills on your hands, running down to your elbows and dripping into puddles on the tile of the kitchen. It seems to come from every direction, pouring over you. Baptising you. You are reborn.

( you will crawl from this pool of blood on your knees, mouth bubbling with your own life source, head tipped up to the only god you know. )

You suppose this could just be something that one does; for all you know, he could be marinating you. He's getting ready to stretch his jaw open, bare his fangs and sink them into your tenderized flesh. His hands word at your shoulders, rubbing away the tense feeling beneath your skin.

The blood that coats you like a layer of paint comes off onto his hands. You think that they are beautiful, like a masterpiece painted by Van Gogh, hung where only you are allowed to lay eyes on it. A soft fuzziness is spreading through your mind as more blood is poured over your head. It dribbles down your face, staining your cheeks like the tears of a demon.

( or of a sinner like you. but you are a lucky one, your god is forgiving, your god loves you. )

With a breathless voice, you whisper your thanks, your praise. Above you, your god reminds you to be quiet in a hushed yet firm tone; his authority never wavers, even as his fingers trace your collarbones, exposed and streaked with red. You shut your mouth, but not before the blood from your head leaks onto your tongue, filling you with the taste of iron and emptiness.

Ever so softly, the fingers press against your neck, feel your pulse. Slowly, they glide to the front, digging gently into the flesh of your throat, index finger pressed against your adams apple. You swallow back the urge to gasp for breath and instead force your shoulders back as he presses harder, his other hand coming to rest on the back of your neck.

He holds you like this, bathing in the blood of the non-believers and praying silently that he allows you a breath so that you can send a final goodbye skyward. Every inhale you take causes his hands to clench you tighter; in turn, your breath grows shallow and labored. But you do not fight it. You could not fight it.

( you have tried to fight this before and you were forgiven, but now it would not be easy, nothing can be easy ever again )

Your god does not stop holding you, even as you begin to tremble. The edges of your sight start to turn grey, then black, disappearing into static as you realize with your final amount of strength that oxygen deprivation is doing this to you. As though it is tired, your body slouches forward, blood dripping from your matted curls and landing like planets on the edge of the pool. 

A voice above you speaks, so soft, so distant, yet so harsh upon your eardrums. It tells you to sleep.

( it says that when you wake, you will be clean. you will be reborn. )


End file.
